


The Captain’s New Clothes

by mardia



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, Humor, Imported, M/M, public semi-nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-15
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7087177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s not until Jim tries the robes on that he knows there’s going to be a problem." Loosely based upon "The Emperor's New Clothes". Originally written for the Ship Wars challenge on the LJ comm st_respect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Captain’s New Clothes

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to kmousie and thalialunacy for betaing!

It’s not until Jim tries the robes on that he knows there’s going to be a problem. To be honest, he’d already suspected there was going to be a problem the minute that he’d seen the robes, but it isn’t until he tries them on that he’s sure.

“Yeah,” Jim says to his dismayed reflection in the mirror, “this isn’t going to go well.”

*

“No,” Bones says firmly in the senior staff meeting. “Absolutely not.”

Jim refrains from sighing, but only just. “Bones,” he says patiently, “—there’s no need to make this into a big deal—“

“Oh, I think so,” Bones corrects him. “Considering that Starfleet’s asking us to go down there and completely _expose_ ourselves in the most ridiculous excuse for apparel I’ve ever seen in my life—“

“They’re just clothes, Bones—“

“Oh, no they aren’t,” Bones says vehemently. “Let’s just get that straight right now, Jim, these aren’t clothes. If I was in a mood to be generous, I _might_ call them gauze.”

“They’re traditional—“

“They’re _transparent_!”

“Actually, Doctor,” Spock interjects, “—to be completely accurate, the ceremonial robes the Tak delivered could best be described as translucent, rather than wholly transparent.”

Bones looks extremely unimpressed by this. “Well, thanks for that clarification, Spock, especially seeing as it doesn’t change my opinion on this at all. I’m _not wearing them._ ”

“Why do any of us have to wear them?” Chekov asks, rather plaintively. “Can’t our regular uniforms be sufficient? Or our dress uniforms, even?”

Bones quickly jumps on this. “Yeah, why _not_ wear our dress uniforms? Jim, I swear to God, I’ll never complain about the damn collars again—at least we’d be wearing real clothes instead of—“

“That’s not an option,” Uhura says, and Jim could kiss her for taking up the gauntlet, except that Spock would probably start choking him again, and that’s not a scenario Jim’s remotely interested in repeating, because _ow_. “The Tak had them delivered especially for us. They’re an insular culture who rarely reach out to other planets, let alone the Federation, and we’re at a crucial point in these trade negotiations. Turning down a gesture like this—”

“Is not an option,” Jim says firmly. “So that means we’re wearing the clothes. All of us,” he says, looking at Bones and Chekov. Chekov slumps in his seat a little, and Bones is scowling worse than ever, but at least both of them are no longer putting up a fight.

Now that just leaves Jim with the problem of trying to conduct trade negotiations while dressed in see-through gauze, every inch of his body exposed—and surrounded by his entire team, who will all be wearing—or not wearing—the exact same thing.

Fantastic.

*

Jim had already known that this mission was hardly going to be a cakewalk, but he maybe hadn’t thought it all through, exactly. Yes, okay, he’ll be walking around nearly naked in front of his team, but…his team is going to be wearing the exact same thing.

And Bones is going to be walking around, for this entire mission, wearing nothing but see-through gauze that doesn’t actually cover an inch of his body. Everyone—including Jim—will be able to see _everything._

Shit.

*

It’s pretty much every bit as awkward as Jim knew it was going to be. The first day is the absolute worst—standing on the transporters in the gauzy robes, trying his level best not to accidentally ogle any of his crewmembers, who are all every bit as exposed as Jim is.

Chekov’s gone bright pink, and his shoulders are hunched in, his pale skin gleaming through the gauzy fabric. Sulu’s standing upright, but with a fixed determination on his face, and his hands keep twitching like all he really wants to do is cover himself up. Spock, of course, is looking as serene as ever—if you don’t notice the faint tinge of green to his cheeks. Uhura also looks relatively calm, but also extremely, extremely tense.

Jim is not going to let his gaze drop down past any of their faces. He is _not._

“Lieutenants, Commander, Ensign,” Jim says, as professionally as he can, and takes his spot on the transporter. “Does anyone know where Bones is?”

“I believe he is still involved in giving last-minute directions to Nurse Chapel and Dr. M’Benga,” Spock says.

Before Jim can move to call Bones over the intercom, Bones is striding into the transporter room, and whatever Jim was about to say in greeting immediately dries up in his head.

Oh God. Bones looks—okay, Jim knows that Bones is a good-looking guy. It’s one of those things that’s not exactly easy to miss, and Jim’s always paid close attention to Bones when it comes to, well, just about everything. They’d roomed together at the Academy, he’s seen or caught glimpses of Bones in just about every state imaginable, and somehow absolutely none of that has prepared Jim in anyway for the sight of his friend in the sheerest of fabrics, that lets Jim see every—see _everything_ , every inch of warm golden skin is right there on display—

Jim tears his eyes away, face hot, and says, staring straight ahead, “Nice of you to join us, Bones.”

“Thought I might as well,” Bones grumbles as he takes his place on the transporter pad, “seeing as it’d be insubordination if I didn’t.”

“Yeah, I’d think the Admiralty would agree there,” Jim says, his voice dry even as he desperately tries —and mostly fails—to keep from sneaking glances over at Bones. He focuses on Scotty in the booth, who’s looking at them with wide eyes, but so far, is manfully refraining from openly ogling his captain and fellow crewmembers. “You good, Scotty?”

“Yes, sir!” Scotty says quickly, snapping to attention.

“Energize.”

And with a swirl of lights, they’re on the Tak homeworld, the grass under their feet and the yellow sunshine streaming down, illuminating their clothes. Jim glances over at Bones and sees the way the sunlight hits his face and hair, sees the way that his body is outlined through the thin fabric, so that Jim can see every curve and line and plane in even more detail than before.

Jim looks away eventually, but it’s with an effort, and the smile he gives to the welcoming party that’s already approaching them is strained.

Yeah. This is going to be a very long, long week.

*

The Tak, for all their reputation of insularity, are incredibly gracious once Jim and his crew have arrived. They’re full of compliments, and are very well-pleased to see that the Starfleet team looks so good in their new robes.

The Tak are bipedal humanoids with greenish-blue scales, hooves at the ends of their legs, and large oval eyes. They’re advanced in medicine and the sciences, their poetry and other literary achievements are gaining popularity in the galaxy, and the _clactari_ fruit they produce is, from all accounts, quite tasty.

They’ve also got some of the largest dilithium deposits in this section of the quadrant, and Jim has lost count of the number of missives he’s received from Starfleet, both official and otherwise, outlining in excruciating detail just how much he cannot fuck these negotiations up.

Of course, Starfleet would never deliberately force its members into a situation where they felt exploited or used, and officially, Starfleet would have been more than happy to let Jim and his team off the hook.

Unofficially, as Pike had put it, “You’re gonna have to suck it up and strip down for Starfleet, Jim.”

And so here they are with the Tak, wearing translucent clothes that don’t cover a damn thing, and the Tak are twittering around them about how they hope these trade negotiations are fruitful and productive. Jim is able to sincerely hope for the same thing, because if these negotiations somehow go wrong, he’s not sure who’s going to be more pissed off, Starfleet or Bones. As Bones had put it, “If I’m going to have to wear this travesty and expose myself to all and sundry, then by God, Jim, we had damn well _better_ get those rights to the dilithium deposits.”

So Jim is on his best behavior, even if he can now tell exactly when any of his crewmembers are feeling a draft. As a matter of fact, Jim wishes he could offer Uhura a jacket—although the whole point is that he can’t, so that's out—not that he's even looking anyway. Because that would be disrespectful, and unprofessional, and it's a tossup to who will put his eyes out if he’s caught looking, Uhura or Spock.

At one point, a member of the welcoming group, a Tak named Ritva'ch, says to Bones admiringly, "Your form is quite pleasing. It fills out the clothes quite well,” and Jim can see the culture clash coming.

He had read the mission briefing carefully, and he knows that Ritva'ch does _not_ in fact mean it to sound like he's saying, "Nice ass", but that is pretty much _exactly_ how it sounds. Jim and the rest of the landing party look directly at Bones to see how he's going to take it.

Thank God, though, that Bones, for all he might grumble about being a doctor instead of a politician, is also chock-full of that legendary Southern hospitality and good breeding—or as Bones would put it, his mama raised him right—so after a second, he inclines his head and manages to say, “Thank you, Ritva'ch,” even though his cheeks are flushed bright red while he’s saying it.

*

The funny thing is that by the second day, they've all almost gotten used to the constant state of undress they're required to live in for the next week.

Almost.

Except for the fact that every time Jim looks at Bones for too long or lets his eyes wander lower than Bones's face, he has to start reciting mathematical equations or the Starfleet manuals he had to basically memorize when he got the Enterprise, all so he can keep himself from having a reaction that'll be all too evident in his see-through clothes.

It's a bit of a problem. Jim’s on the verge of asking Spock for meditation techniques.

The fourth day of negotiations, things officially get out of hand.

They've been assigned spacious guest quarters in a section of what is basically the royal palace, with a common living room. Jim's there one afternoon, reviewing reports sent to his PADD from the Enterprise, while Bones is out with a guide, touring the medical facilities in the capital city. Out through the window, Jim notices that it's raining, and promptly dismisses it.

He doesn't think about it again, not until Bones is storming in through the door, dripping wet, his clothes—such as they are—soaked through and clinging to his skin.

Jim looks up to say hello, and nearly swallows his tongue.

"Jesus, McCoy," Sulu says from the couch where he's been sitting, "—what happened to you?"

"Got caught in the downpour," Bones explains, scowling as he plucks at the wet fabric, which, thanks to the water, has gone from what Spock would classify as translucent to pretty much completely transparent.

Jim can see everything, and for the life of him, he can't tear his eyes away. He's sitting behind a table, thank God, but he still crosses his legs reflexively.

There's a drop of rain near Bones's temple, and Jim watches, absolutely transfixed, as it rolls down Bones's cheek, curving towards Bones's soft, full mouth—

Bones is wet, his nipples drawn up tight and poking through the thin material, his entire body exposed, including his cock, and let's face it, Jim's been trying to be a gentleman here, but he's not a _saint_ , and at this point, he's fairly confident in his ability to accurately draw Bones's entire body from memory, with his eyes closed.

Bones looks down at himself in disgust, and then growls, "I'm going to change. Lemme know when it's time for dinner."

"Will do," Jim says as Bones walks off, and if his voice is strangled and his face has gone red, then nobody seems to notice, except for Uhura, who gives him a questioning look, eyebrows raised, which Jim ignores as best he can.

Still, he probably shouldn't be that surprised when she walks over, leans in and says, sotto voce, "You know, Captain, if you turn any redder, I think your face might actually catch fire."

Of course that just makes Jim go even redder, his eyes widening as well, and Uhura gives him a sunny, amused smile, eyebrows quirking, before she moves to sit down again.

*

Jim doesn't talk about his feelings. He never has, not even when he was fourteen and on a first-name basis with the school psychologist, who liked calling Jim into his office once a week at the very least, more if Jim had gotten into a fight—which he usually had.

Jim doesn't talk about his feelings, especially feelings regarding his best friend and CMO, especially certain feelings that Jim's cheerfully been repressing for the last four months.

But now Jim's on an alien planet watching said best friend and CMO trooping on through, day after day, in see-through clothes that don't cover a goddamn thing. So really, Jim can't be blamed for wanting, just this once, to drop his no-talking-about-feelings policy and get some common-sense advice on how the hell to _deal_ with this already.

He finds Uhura out on the balcony, leaning against the railing and watching the two moons rise up in the sky. She glances over as she hears him approach, and smiles warmly. "Captain."

"Lieutenant," Jim says, moving to stand next to her. "How are you enjoying your temporary new uniform?" he asks with a wink and a smirk, although—as has become the norm during this mission—he keeps his eyes level with her face.

Uhura answers his smirk with an eyebrow raise of her own—part of Jim is convinced she's taking lessons from Spock—and says sweetly, "Not nearly as much as you are. Or rather, not nearly as much as you're enjoying _Dr. McCoy_ in our new uniform."

Jim tries to keep it cool, but that telltale flush is back on his cheeks again, and he's not sure if Uhura can really make it out in the moonlight, but she seems to know either way.

He could try to play it off. He just...doesn't want to.

"So, is it that obvious?" he asks finally, keeping his voice steady and calm with effort.

"Not...exactly," Uhura hedges. "You've—well, you've acted like a complete gentleman on this trip, actually. You don't—you're the only person who hasn't really gotten flustered or embarrassed, you don't stare at any of us, you act like this is totally normal. Except for when McCoy's around. Around him, when _he's_ in the room wearing what the rest of us are wearing, you get flustered. Once I noticed that, it wasn't too hard to figure out why."

Jim sighs and doesn't deny it. “It was bad enough with his regular uniform,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Have you _seen_ the way that blue shirt stretches across his biceps?”

"Oh, yeah," Uhura agrees, with enough conviction in her voice that Jim raises an eyebrow of his own.

"Do I need to tell Spock to be worried here?"

Uhura snorts. "Please," she says, and then shoots him a glance out of the corner of her eye. "Besides, something tells me you wouldn't appreciate the competition."

And she's right, he wouldn't. Even though, there's really no competition to be had in the first place. Bones has no idea, after all, and Jim hasn't made a single move towards correcting that.

“He doesn’t know,” Jim tells her. “I haven’t—he doesn’t know.”

Uhura nods slowly at this. “I figured,” she admits, and then glances at him. “Do you mind if I ask why?”

Jim thinks about it, and decides to answer her question with a question of his own. “How did you and Spock get together?” Uhura’s forehead wrinkles in confusion at the question, and Jim says, “I’m not looking for details of your sex life.” Well, not right now, anyway. “I just—that first date. I’m assuming you’re the one who made the first move, so. Tell me how you did it.”

Uhura looks at him for a second longer, gauging—what, Jim’s not sure. But whatever she’s looking for, she seems to find it, because she says finally, “I thought about it. For a long time. He was my instructor, and he’s Vulcan, and it was so hard to—to really trust my instincts on what I thought he might want from me. So I thought about it, and I hesitated for a really long time, but finally, I wrote up a speech, went into his office, and I asked.”

Jim considers this. “You wrote up a speech?” he asks, and Uhura rolls her eyes.

“Believe me, it helped to be prepared,” she tells him, and then hesitates before saying, “The details aren’t really important, Jim. The point is that I asked, because that’s the only way I could find out. I asked him, that’s all there is to it.”

Jim looks down at the ground, so he won’t have to see her watching his face. “Sounds easy,” he remarks, his voice only a little bit rough.

“Yes and no,” Uhura tells him, her voice lighter. “Besides, it can’t be any less obvious than you ogling his ass whenever he walks by.”

“Hey, it’s a great ass, what do you want from me?” Jim asks jokingly, and Uhura laughs, and the spell’s broken.

 

*

“So what’d you want to talk about?” Bones asks, sitting down next to Jim on the corner of the bed.

It’s late at night, but Bones hadn’t even blinked when Jim had knocked on his door, asking to come in and talk for a moment.

Jim’s silent for a moment, looking at Bones, who’s still wearing those robes that started this whole thing in the first place—although if Jim’s being honest, this has been coming for a while now. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to do,” he says abruptly.

Bones’s forehead furrows, and he says slowly, not understanding, “Okay, what is it?“

Jim stares at him, and considers Uhura's advice of just saying something, just lay it out there in a speech, but he's always been shit at expressing his feelings in words. He's much better with actions.

So Jim looks at Bones for one long moment, and then leans in to kiss him on the mouth, soft and lingering, and he doesn't fail to notice the surprised huff that Bones lets out against his lips, or the fact that, for a second, Bones presses back, right before he pulls away to stare at Jim in what can only be sheer disbelief.

Jim's tongue flickers out to lick at his mouth nervously, and he admits in a voice that's surprisingly hoarse, "That. I've been wanting to do that."

Bones just blinks at him, and then asks, clearly still stunned, "Is this—are you doing this now because of the _clothes_ or something?"

Jim has to let out an unsteady laugh at that. "No," he says. "Not that your ass doesn't look great in them--" Bones's eyebrow shoots up for his hairline at that, "—but no, mostly it's just you." Jim shrugs, because hell, he's in for a pound now, and he might as well let out the rest. "Has been for a while now, honestly."

Bones’s entire face seems to shift at this, and he stares at Jim for one long, heart-pounding moment before he nods, a smile slowly starting to appear at the corners of his mouth. “I think we can work with that.”

And this time it's Bones who leans in for the kiss, his warm broad hands cupping Jim's face, and Jim shivers, but not because he's cold.

*

As good as Bones looks in nearly-transparent robes, he looks even better out of them. In Jim’s not-so-humble opinion, Bones looks best when he’s naked, spread out on a bed under Jim’s hands, arching up his hips because Jim’s driving him crazy with frustrated lust.

Jim lowers his head to mouth along Bones’ hipbone, already having worked his way down along Bones’s neck, his chest and stomach, and as he does, Bones shifts restlessly and groans out, “Jesus, Jim, I never thought you’d be this much of a tease—“

Jim lifts his head and blinks at him. “C’mon, Bones, have you met me? Of _course_ I’m this much of a tease.” Bones lets out a half-groan, half-chuckle at that, and Jim dips his head back down to lap at Bones’s skin with his tongue, the skin that Jim’s been staring at for the better part of a week but hasn’t gotten to touch until now. “Besides,” he points out, his head still lowered, “—you’ve been teasing me for much longer, so I figure turnabout’s fair play.”

“Oh, I have _not_ —“

Jim looks back up at him and says succinctly, “ _Rain_.”

It takes Bones only a moment to get what Jim’s referencing, but then he starts protesting, “Oh, come on, it’s not like that was on purpose—“

“Doesn’t matter,” Jim says easily, in between mouthing the crease between Bones’s groin and thigh, listening to the way Bones’s breathing has gotten shallower, turning into panting. “You were still there, in your soaked clothes and your slicked-back hair, looking all—“ Jim shakes his head quickly at the memory. “And that’s not even taking into account all the _other_ times you’ve driven me crazy.”

The whole time Jim’s been talking, his breath’s been gusting against Bones’s erection, and Jim’s really enjoying seeing Bones shiver and twitch in reaction.

He lifts his head again and smiles at Bones, bright and more than a little triumphant. “S’okay though, Bones,” he says, magnanimous. “I forgive you.”

And before Bones can do more than splutter at that, Jim lowers his head, and sucks the tip of Bones’ cock into his mouth, and Bones is still incoherent now, but it’s for a much better reason.

For now, at least, Jim’s done teasing, he just hollows out his cheeks and sucks, hard, tonguing the slit, the vein at the underside of Bones’s cock, until Bones is groaning and clutching Jim’s hair, his hips twitching up despite himself. One hand settles at the curve of Jim’s skull, and Jim groans in appreciation, liking the heavy weight of Bones’s hand on his head, carding through his hair.

Jim starts to hum around Bones’s cock, and that’s it, game over, because Bones is tensing up, crying out hoarsely, “Jesus God, Jim—“ and coming in Jim’s mouth.

Jim swallows, licks Bones clean, and rises, wiping at his mouth with a hand as he informs Bones, “We’re going to be doing that a lot from now on, by the way.”

Bones lifts his head from the pillow and looks at him, face flushed and eyes glittering. “No shit,” he says. “Now get the hell over here so I can do the same to you. If I’m going to be called a tease, I’m damn well gonna make sure I deserve it.”

Jim doesn’t need to be told twice.

*

When Jim wakes up the next morning, the first thing he sees is the crumpled heap of gauzy white fabric on the floor, and he smiles sleepily before nestling a little closer to a still-sleeping Bones, and closing his eyes to fall back asleep.

 

*

The mission is remembered as one of the most successful negotiations completed in the Enterprise’s history, and Jim would absolutely have to agree, although his reasons don’t exactly match up with Starfleet’s.

And if there’s a pair of almost-transparent robes hiding in the back of Jim’s closet, well, nobody can confirm that except for Jim—and Bones, of course.  



End file.
